An out of the box genre of poetry that is written in prose instead of verse. But there is a difference! Prose poems maintain poetic qualities of grand imagery and emotional consequences. Being a fusion of poetry and prose, this genre is an interesting narrative to read. Prose poems can take you deep in the theme with its story-telling. A great genre to explore!
I departed gently, like a soft breeze that enters a window and cools off a room with a very soft entry; I entered a path of ancient rough stone, all covered with bush and trees overgrown. My goal was to
Our men are slowly drowning in their tears. Labelled weak cos they express their fears. Father said I wasn’t man enough and told me to act tough cos I cried when I touched her cold body Regardless of the situation
The ancient church all vintage stone and loved throughout the ages, was now more famous for something strange, and in all the local pages. A large sinkhole all filled with rocks and lots of other rubble, was on the grounds,
I had a dream last night. It was very concise but interesting. Rather revelatory, but not prophetic in the usual way. There was a class with a facilitator encouraging input based on a lesson plan provided to the class. I,
As the singularity draws near, I look on with trepidation. What lies beyond i do not know. A technological marvel some say, Nirvana it will be. Others say a dystopian future awaits. No one knows for sure! I think back
We are born into an unknown world. Slowly we learn as we go. Taught by those who came before. Who in turn we’re taught By those who came before. Generation after generation passing knowledge forward. Knowledge differed region by region.
We have been taught. We have been programed. The veil grows thicker over our eyes. Our senses are limited. We see very little. Remove the veil. Think past what you were taught. Break the cocoon you’ve been encased in. Look
We are all tightly wrapped. It began at birth. We are born with tendency, but the wrapping begins at birth. Like an Egyptian mummy the world begins to wrap. As the years go by the cocoon thickens. Depending on where
We who are born in our minuscule cradle in the cosmos see monsters. We see monsters in our cradle having been born with us. We see monsters coming at us from below. We see monsters in the great beyond. We
The moon awaits eagerly in the same pedestal it ignited my passion. What lips, my lips have kissed, are long forgotten. The memories easily quickened as a few puddles along the way I voluntarily stepped in. What arms have lain
We are animals. Civilization, thousands of years in the making. The animal, millions of years in the making. Animal instincts etched into each cell of our being. Survival, procreation, deeply embedded into our souls. We think ourselves apart from, superior,
We are in Hell. We make the best of it, but, make no mistake, we are all in hell. Trapped on an orb surround by endlessness. No hope of escape. Look around. Hate, violence, suffering, mayhem, destruction, cancer, disease, pain,
Conspicuous characteristic distinguishing self-sustaining of my will to be or not to be … The mind agitated, darkness to be filtered slowly, carefully to sustain its fragile shell … we are shaken not stirred. If only you could have saved
Forget me not, my vintage friend, though life in me takes flight. I’m with you now and always, though far and out of sight. Remember all the best of times and love that we both shared, and let those memories
Look, listen, learn. What’s going on? Writhing existence. Organic world mixing coalescing on all levels. Civilization, humanity, genetic confusion. The experiment turned on. Seer watching no interference but wondering. We but unwitting participants. Endgame Unknown. Writhing, coalescing genetic blob growing,
Dear father, Have you seen your daughter lately? You are missing a lot. You have missed a gamut of Her cuteness. I see her daily in my classroom, And she is growing into A wonderful young lady. She is smart.
Submerged in doubt one floats carefree in aimless waters without hope of touching land. Tethered with guilt and regrets one tows his/her soul to a destiny of penance. Overt or clandestine, pain is no one’s gain if one can grasp
For everything, there is a season, it has been foretold. When I was young and green, securely clinging to the branches of my family Sugar Maple tree, I thought it was the best I would ever be. But here, now,
This morning I awoke, You were the first thing on My mind: You were the sunrise Spreading your golden rays Across the sky. This morning I woke up You were the fresh rose In my garden Your tender petals blowing
Our society, I believe, has its own twisted definition of Darwin’s “Survival of the fittest”, For it clearly reminds us time and again, about how it wants to be impressed – “He owns a two-storey apartment, he drives to office
Hatred, let it flow, let those memories that shackled me fade, let that dagger, which gives me pain mystify, let those eyes that see through darkness appear, let that beast go berserk, As I smile at the damnation I caused,
Looking at the mirror, I remembered, The day you had bought that dress for me. That silly dress, the one in black with white polka dots. You had told me, that when you come back, We would dance together in
Coffee// By: Fareed Ghanem **** Here I am, just a handful of water taken from the last raining season. Since the last Bedouin had poured me into his pot, which had been dyed by sand and smoke, and laid over